


Drip

by bunny_boy



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M, the mcd is sort of open ended so you can decide for yourself whether it happens or not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-28
Updated: 2017-10-28
Packaged: 2019-01-25 15:08:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12534564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunny_boy/pseuds/bunny_boy
Summary: Bucky’s being haunted by the ghosts of those he killed as the Winter Soldier. And that's not a metaphor. But alongside his victims is the very angry ghost of his past self.And he seems pretty determined to get his life back, no matter the cost.





	1. Chapter 1

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bucky doesn’t need to open his eyes to know where the sound is coming from, but he does anyway. Sure enough, in the far corner of the dark room the dull, pale eyes are blinking at him, glinting in the dim light filtering through the window. Thick red blood is seeping out of their many wounds and winding its way down to the floor, puddling at their transparent feet.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

It’s been like this ever since he broke free of his programming. At first he was able to ignore them, to pretend the nightmare figures were simply figments of his damaged imagination. As time has gone on, though, their presence has grown stronger. A hallucination didn’t throw the sheets off him in the middle of the night. A nightmare can’t make the lights flicker, or turn the faucet on.

He’d always known who they were. Up until recently, though, he’d been unable to see their faces. Now, as he sits up in the early morning light, he can see every horrifying detail. There’s Howard, with his broken nose and bruised, bloodied face. Behind him, Maria, the handprint on her neck faintly glowing a muddied purple. Next to her, a Russian diplomat, the slash across his neck so deep it’s reminiscent of a failed decapitation. Many of the figures have dark oozing holes in their foreheads, the reminders of precisely aimed bullets.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

They never speak, at least not to him. They whisper amongst themselves, their words no more decipherable than branches scraping against the roof in the middle of the night, or the ominous splashing just out of sight down a storm drain.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Steve?” The word sticks to his dry tongue. Curled up against him under the blankets, Steve mumbles sleepily and wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist. Bucky places a trembling hand on Steve’s shoulder, gently trying to shake him awake.

“Well, isn’t that adorable. You actually think he gives a shit about you?” The voice snakes its way through the room, sounding familiar but oddly twisted. The ghosts in the corner vanish hurriedly, leaving only an echo of their frightened whispers behind them. Bucky glances up. Leaning against the doorframe, dressed in a typical 1940s outfit, is another spirit. One who doesn’t follow the same rules as the others. One he’s much more familiar with.

“He doesn’t care about you. He says he does, but he really cares about me.” The ghostly Bucky crosses his arms, and glares at his living counterpart. Minus the left arm and hair, the two are a mirror image of each other, until you get to the eyes. The ghost’s are cold and dead, two lifeless orbs sunken into his pale face. “You’re a fake.”

“That's not true,” Bucky mumbles, more to himself than the ghost.

“Sure. You keep telling yourself that, if it's what helps you fall asleep at night.” Bucky hopes he never sees a smirk like the one twisting across the ghost’s features on his face ever again.

“Who are you talking to, Buck?” Bucky glances down. Steve is blinking up at him, still half-asleep.

He looks back up at the now-empty doorframe. The lingering echo of laughter is all that remains of the ghost.

“Buck?” Steve pulls himself into a sitting position, rubbing his eyes and yawning. “What’s happening?”

Bucky looks down at his lap, where his hands are curled together. The one of flesh and bone is shaking, while the metal one remains as steady as ever. He's silent for a moment, then finally speaks. “It was them. Again.” He points to the corner. “Over there.”

Steve reaches over and turns on the lamp on the bedside table, bathing the room in warm light. He squints at the corner, searching for the nightmare figures.  
“They're gone now.” Bucky doesn't look up. He hesitates. “He… He was there too.”

Steve inhales sharply. “The you from the 40s?”

Bucky nods wordlessly. Steve wraps his fingers around Bucky’s hand, squeezing it gently.

“They're not real,” Steve says in a comforting voice. “They're hallucinations. It's okay. You're safe.”

Bucky nods. Maybe Steve is right. Maybe the ghosts are just in his head. Hell, maybe Hydra put them there on purpose. After all the shit they put him through… He wouldn't be surprised. Still, it's not like it matters how they got here. Real or not, they seem determined to torture him. And they're succeeding. There's a sting as tears form in his eyes, and he wipes them away.

“Oh, honey.” Steve pulls him into a hug. Bucky buries his face in Steve’s shoulder. “Shhhh. It's okay,” Steve murmurs soothingly, running his fingers through Bucky’s tangled hair. “It's okay. I've got you.”

They stay like that for a moment, curled together on the bed. Bucky can almost forget that anything’s wrong. Finally, he lifts his head from Steve’s shoulder, and finds himself face-to-face with the ghost. The familiar visage is barely an inch away, the dead eyes glaring into his own. The cold gaze feels like it's digging into his soul.  
Bucky freezes. Steve feels him tense up, and turns to look at him.

“You okay, Buck?” The concern on Steve’s face is evident. Bucky wants to say something, to tell Steve the ghost is back, but he can’t bring himself to speak. The scanning eyes, so close to his own, seem to have paralyzed him. The ghost takes a step back, smiling at his silence.

“See? You can’t even speak up to defend yourself. Pathetic. You don’t deserve to live.”

Bucky tightens his grip on Steve, who puts a comforting hand on his back.

“It’s okay,” Steve murmurs softly. “You don’t have to say anything. I understand. It’s okay.”

The ghost sneers. “He doesn’t understand, and he never will. How could he? You’re broken. He’ll never know what that’s like because he’s perfect. He deserves so much better than you.” The ghost’s eyes narrow, and there’s true hatred in his face. “He deserves me.”

Steve presses his lips lightly against Bucky’s cheek. “Tell you what. How about we move to the kitchen? Would a change of scenery make you feel better?” he says softly. As Bucky nods mutely, the ghost vanishes with one final glare.


	2. Chapter 2

With the comforting scent of waffles filling the brightly-lit kitchen, it’s hard for Bucky to understand what he was so scared about. The ghosts had never actually harmed him, and besides, Steve had been there. He sighs, poking at a waffle with his fork.

Steve slides into the seat across from him. “You doing okay?” 

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Just…” He shrugs. “Y’know. It’s just a little unnerving to wake up and immediately have to deal with… all that. But I’m fine. Just a moment of weakness.”  
Steve raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. There’s silence in the kitchen as they finish eating.

When Bucky is about to leave, Steve finally speaks. “Buck, it’s okay to…” He pauses, searching for the right words. “... to be… I don’t know. Emotionally open, I guess?”  
“That’s one way to say it,” Bucky says, smiling slightly. “And yeah, being open is great, sometimes. But being paralyzed with fear by some twink in 1940s clothing who thinks he’s hot shit just because he’s never been forced to kill someone against his will? That’s something I’m not particularly interested in being open about.”

Steve leans back in his seat with a sigh and a wry smile. “Maybe if you didn’t insult him so much he’d leave you alone.”

“Well maybe if I sucked his dick he’d leave me alone too, but am I gonna do either of those things? Nope,” Bucky says, taking a sip of orange juice. Steve snorts with laughter. “I don’t even know how that’d work,” Bucky continues. “Can you even suck a ghost’s dick? Like, is it even physically present enough to suck?”

Steve’s smile slides off his face. He takes a deep breath. “Bucky…”

Bucky waves a hand dismissively. “You can talk about how they’re not ghosts ‘til you’re blue in the face, Steve. But my phone didn’t magically unplug itself in the middle of the night.”

“No, but you did trip over the cord when you got out of bed to go eat some cereal at three in the morning,” Steve points out.

“Oh. You were awake for that?”

“Buck, you dropped the loudest f-bomb I’ve ever heard. It was a little hard to stay asleep.”

“Damn. Being a trained assassin and all, you’d think I’d have learned better.” Bucky regrets saying it the minute it leaves his mouth. At the word ‘assassin,’ the atmosphere of the room instantly changes. The comforting glow of the morning sun seems to dim. The scent of waffles is replaced by the stench of blood and electricity, and the flavor of orange juice left on his tongue is replaced by the taste of iron.

Bucky stands up, almost knocking over his glass. “I’ll be in the bedroom if you need me,” he says, then hurries out of the room.

Steve bites his lip. He wants to help, but he knows he can’t. He’s tried. “Just shout if you need me,” he calls after Bucky. The untouched waffles on his plate suddenly seem a lot less appetizing.

 

It isn’t until late that night, while Steve is out on a mission, that they come back. Bucky is hunched over his notebook, scribbling rapidly, trying to ignore the ghost leaning over his shoulder.

“God, this shit is sappy,” the ghost says disgustedly, reading Bucky’s writing. “How is it you alternate between heartless monster and total fucking wimp so fast?”

“How is it you manage to be such a dick?” Bucky mumbles.

“Oh, sure. I’m the dick.” The ghost scoffs. “You’re the one who stole my life.” He slams his hands onto the desk. The notebook flies off the table, hitting the opposite wall and falling to the floor. He leans closer in, his lips right next to Bucky’s ear. “And I want it back.”

Bucky jerks away, his heart pounding. “It’s not yours,” he says, trying to put up a confident facade.

“Oh, don’t pull that bullshit with me. I know you. I am you. At least, I used to be. Or maybe you used to be me?” The ghost hesitates for a moment, confused. “Whatever. The point is, I know you’re scared. And not of me. No, you’re scared because you know I’m right.”

Wordlessly, Bucky stands up and begins to walk away.

“Where are you going? You don’t seriously think you can hide from me, do you?” The ghost floats after him lazily, taunting him. Bucky walks faster. He knows he can’t escape. He’s just praying that if he keeps walking, the ghost will get bored and leave. He walks in circles around the house ignoring the ghost, who’s constantly throwing insults and assorted objects at him. As they pass through the living room for the tenth time, the ghost gets mad.

“Okay. That’s enough.” Suddenly Bucky is pinned to the wall by a vice-like hand around his neck, his shoes at least a foot off the floor. Under the cold fingers, his skin tingles, then goes numb. “You’ve had your fun, now I get to have mine,” the ghost hisses. Bucky is too busy gasping for air to respond. He claws at his throat, his fingers passing uselessly through the hand crushing his windpipe.

Just as his vision is starting to go fuzzy, Bucky hears a noise that the ghost, in his anger and excitement, hasn’t noticed. Footsteps are echoing across the concrete outside. Bucky fights harder to free himself. Steve is almost here. He only has to survive a few more seconds.

The door creaks open. The ghost vanishes and Bucky collapses to the floor, coughing. Steve stands in the doorway, a stunned expression on his face. It takes a few moments, but the sight of Bucky in distress finally outweighs his confusion. He runs over, kneeling next to Bucky.

There’s an awkwardly long moment of silence. Finally, Bucky speaks.

“See? I told you. Ghosts.”

Steve hesitates, then nods. “Yeah, I just…. jeez. So ghosts, huh?” Sure. Why not.” He shakes his head and sighs. There’s another awkwardly quiet moment. “I thought you said they never tried to hurt you.”

Bucky shrugs. “That’s what I thought. It seemed like he was stronger this time, though. Angrier, too.”

Steve takes a deep breath. “Was it just him?”

Bucky nods.

“What did he want?”

Bucky shrugs again, and looks away.

Steve frowns. “Buck. What did he want?”

Bucky stands up. “I’m going to bed.” He starts to walk away.

“Whatever he’s saying to you, it’s not true, Bucky,” Steve calls after him. “Whoever he is, he’s not you.”

Bucky looks like he’s about to respond, but before he can some unseen force slams into him. He goes flying across the room, tumbling to a stop on the carpet. Steve moves to run to him.

“Don’t you dare.”

The familiar voice is so full of venom that Steve freezes. Standing in front of him is another Bucky- one he’d thought he’d never see again. Transfixed, he takes a step forward.  
“Not another step.” The ghostly Bucky crosses his arms. “You’re not going anywhere near him." His tone is angry, but Steve picks up a hint of something else- desperation.  
“Okay, well- can you at least tell me why?” Steve tries his best to keep his voice soothing. He wants to keep the ghost calm, to prevent any more attacks.

“Why? Because he took my fucking life, that’s why!” Something flashes behind the ghost’s eyes, a murderous glint like light reflecting off a blade that brings back memories of helicarriers and a black mask. “He took my fucking life and I want it back! He’s a monster, he doesn’t deserve it!”

“What he did wasn’t his fault,” Steve says, his eyes narrowed. “And if you don’t know that, then clearly you’re not really Bucky.”

The ghost is stunned into silence. He looks as if he wants to respond, to scream, to fight back, but instead he turns on the spot and vanishes.

Steve walks over to the real Bucky and pulls him to his feet.

“Come on. We’re leaving.”

“Where?” Bucky asks, confused. “He’s just gonna follow us!”

“The only place I can think of that’s safe from supernatural threats,” Steve says, pulling out his phone and beginning to dial a number.


	3. Chapter 3

Ten minutes later, Steve and Bucky are in Stephen Strange’s apartment, searching through his extensive library for books on ghosts. A faint light barrier glows on the windows and doors. Strange has assured them it will keep the ghost out.

“Okay, this is hopeless. I give up.” Bucky throws himself down onto the couch between towering stacks of thick books.

Steve sighs. “Stephen, is there any pattern to these? Alphabetical? Dewey Decimal System? Anything?”

The doctor shakes his head. “No, it’s been awhile since I’ve organized them. They just sort of pile up.”

Bucky groans. “You’re telling me you have no idea where your books on exorcising ghosts are?”

“Well, that’s not exactly an everyday occurrence, so no. Unless…” he trails off, thoughtful. For a minute, there’s total silence. Bucky glances at Steve, who shrugs.

Another minute passes. Bucky throws a book at Strange, narrowly missing his head. It works, though.

“Ah! Yes, I think I have a book that’ll work. I’ll be right back.” Strange leaves the room.

Bucky glances at Steve again. “We’re trusting this guy? He didn’t even acknowledge that I threw a book at him!”

“He’s the best there is at dealing with supernatural threats, Buck.”

“Yeah, well, he’s fucking weird.”

Steve grins. “Don’t you mean Strange?”

Bucky throws another book at him.

 

Soon they’re back home, equipped with a thick, rotting leather-bound book and a grocery bag full of items the exorcism requires. They’re sitting on the cold concrete floor of the basement, since according to the book the basement is the best place for an exorcism because it’s closest to hell. Looking around at the creaking pipes, dusty boxes, and shadowy cobwebs, Bucky has to agree. The dim fluorescent lighting reminds him of a Hydra facility, and as Steve flips through the book he can’t help but keep glancing around nervously. He keeps seeing movement out of the corner of his eye- but whether it’s the ghost or just shadows, he can’t tell.

Finally, Steve puts the book down.

“Okay. So, we need to make a circle of salt on the floor.” He reaches into the bag, and pulls out the container of salt.

Bucky raises an eyebrow as Steve makes the circle. “I thought salt was for demons?”

Steve shrugs, and puts the salt back into the bag. He sits back on his heels, admiring his handiwork. “That’s what the book says to do.” He looks back to the book. “Okay… now we need to place four candles around the circle and light all but one of them.”

“This is starting to sound like a poorly written horror story. Candles? Really?”

“Just go with it, Buck.”

“Okay. Fine.”

Bucky places the candles, and lights two of them. As the lighter is about to touch the wick of the third, there’s a loud crashing sound, and the lights go out with a popping noise. They both turn and freeze. A box in the corner has fallen off its shelf. Around it, figures are beginning to appear. Soon the ghosts line the room, forming a ring around Steve and Bucky. They glow faintly in the gloom, casting twisted shadows up the walls.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Among the figures, Steve can see Howard and Maria, and a few other faces he recognizes from files. He turns back to Bucky.

“Ignore them. Light the third candle.” His voice sounds deafening in the deathly silence. There’s a false confidence to it, hiding how shaken he is by the gory figures.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bucky doesn’t move. He’s paralyzed, staring at the figures. The flickering candlelight and swirling trails of smoke passing over his face make his eyes look sunken and flat and there’s a familiar glint behind them. Steve’s breath catches.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

“Buck. Light the candle.”

Bucky slowly turns to him, and blinks. The moment passes, and he nods and lights the candle.

There’s a hissing sound, and the figures seem to distort. Their faces blur, their wounds swell, and the blood gushes. A red ring seeps across the floor, closing in around Steve and Bucky.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Steve does his best to ignore it. “Okay, now we just need to get him-“ The box on the floor, now soaked with blood, flies across the room, smashing into the opposite wall and spattering bloody chunks of cardboard everywhere. Bucky flinches. Steve tries again.

“Now we just need to get him in there.” He points at the circle. “Then we light the last candle. You up for being bait, Buck?”

Bucky groans. “Fine. Let’s just get this over with.” He moves inside the circle.

“Hey, you fucking ghost piece of shit! Come and get me!” he yells, trying to lure the ghost out of hiding.

The temperature drops a few degrees, and the candles flicker. Bucky takes a deep breath.

“What, are you too scared to face me? You can’t bear to face the fact that I’m the original and you’re the-“

The ghost materializes and slams into Bucky before he can finish his sentence, sending him flying through the air. He hits the wall hard enough to send cracks through the drywall, then drops to the floor, unconscious. Steve lunges forward, and lights the fourth candle. He fights the urge to run over to check on Bucky, and instead settles for a quick glance to make sure Bucky’s breathing. He can’t get distracted now. He has to finish this, before the ghost figures out how to escape.

Steve turns from the Bucky on the floor to the Bucky inside the circle, now surrounded by a tall, dimly glowing barrier, who’s glaring at him with enough venom to wilt flowers.

“The hell is this, huh?” The ghost gestures angrily at the circle. “What are you trying to do?”

Steve picks up the book. “Get rid of you.”

The angry glare turns to an expression of shock, and maybe a little fear.

“No. You- you wouldn’t,” The ghost chokes out.

“I will.” The words feel awful. Steve doesn’t want to hurt any version Bucky, even a homicidal ghost who only looks like Bucky. “I can’t have you trying to kill him anymore.” He raises the book higher. The ghost takes a step back.

“No, Steve, it’s- it’s not like that! I can explain, I promise!”

Steve’s eyes narrow. He begins to read the passage in the book out loud. The ghost is slowly lifted into the air and starts to glow, crying out in pain and writhing in the air. Steve falters for a moment, but continues reading.

“Steve, please! I can explain all of this! PLEASE!”

Steve keeps reading. He’s not going to be tricked by this twisted imitation of Bucky.

“Steve, listen to me! I saved your fucking life!” The ghost glows brighter, and makes a pained gasp. Steve ignores him. “He would’ve killed you on that helicarrier, if it hadn’t been for me!”

Steve hesitates for a moment. The ghost is quick to fill the silence.

“I’ve been watching him for seventy years now, unable to do anything, but on the helicarrier I was able to finally stop him! I put part of my- I don’t know, spirit, soul, whatever- back into him! That’s why he’s remembering, that’s why he hasn’t killed you! He thinks he’s me!”

“Then why didn’t you try and tell me?” Steve shoots back, breaking the ritual. The ghost falls to his hands and knees, flickering weakly as if he might disappear at any moment. “And why would you try to kill him?”

“I- I think when I gave him part of me, I got part of him back! That anger, that desire to kill-“ The ghost looks up, and Steve is startled to see tears in his eyes. “God, Steve, it’s fucking terrifying! I don’t want it, but... I can’t stop it!”

Steve is silent. He flips through the book, and finally finds the page he’s looking for. The ghost watches him, apprehensive.

“I’m not going to destroy you,” Steve says finally. “But I’m banishing you from this house. I’m not letting you anywhere near us ever again.” He begins to read the passage. The ghost scrambles to his feet.

“Steve, no! If you get rid of me, it’ll get rid of the part of me that’s in him! He’ll kill you!” He throws himself against the barrier, desperate to get out, but only bounces harmlessly off it. Steve continues to read.

“You fucking idiot! He’ll kill you, just like everyone else!” The ghost gestures at the figures ringing the room, who murmur amongst themselves and look away as he points at them.

Steve nears the end of the page. As he reads the final sentence, he looks up.

“You’re gonna fucking regret this, Steve. I can promise you that,” the ghost hisses as a sudden cold wind whips through the room, lifting him and the other ghosts away with it. His last words hang in the air behind him.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The lights turn back on. Steve glances around. The blood is gone, the sound of a leaky pipe taking its place. He sighs, and makes a mental note to fix the pipe in the morning. He makes a note to clean up the salt and candles in the morning, too. Right now, he just wants to sleep.

He stands and walks over to Bucky, who’s still unconscious. Steve scoops him up, and carries him up the stairs. As they reach the top of the steps, Steve flicks the light switch. He stands there for a moment, staring into the dark and listening to the dripping pipe, before closing the door.

Drip. Drip. Drip.


	4. Chapter 4

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The Winter Soldier wakes to the sound of water. He sits up, confused. Why is he in a bed? Where is he? The last thing he remembers is the helicarrier, and being about to kill his target…

His target. How long has it been? He’s never taken this long to complete a mission. Panic sets in. His handler is going to be furious, and an angry handler can only mean pain. He stands up.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

The sound is coming from the hallway. It sounds like a sink- someone must be washing their hands. He opens the door carefully, and slips out of the room. There’s a light on in a doorway about halfway down the hall. As he makes his way towards it, a figure emerges.

“Buck?” The figure moves closer, and the Soldier recognizes it as his target. Unarmed, and completely defenseless.He can’t believe his luck. “I’m glad you’re awake, are you feeling okay?”

The Soldier launches himself at his target, whose eyes widen. The target reaches for something to defend itself with, but finds nothing. Metal and flesh fingers close around the target’s neck.

 

Steve stumbles backwards, his mind and lungs racing. No. This can’t be right. That sunken, flat look is back in Bucky’s eyes. The ghost must have been right. Oh, god. The ghost was the real Bucky. And Steve had-

Tears prick Steve’s eyes, completely unrelated to the fact that he's being choked. This is all his fault. And there’s no one to help him. Unless… the ritual had only banished the ghost- no. The ritual had only banished Bucky from the house. If he can make it outside the house… Bucky will help him, right? Bucky will be back to normal, and will forgive him. He has to believe that. He staggers to the bedroom, dragging the Winter Soldier along with him, his vision starting to go blurry. As he crosses the room, he falls to his knees on the soft carpet. No. He can’t fail. He has to get out. Slowly, painfully, he makes it to the window. He doesn’t have enough strength to stand and open it, so he does the only thing he can- he throws himself through it.

He hits the grass hard, followed by a soft rain of sharp shards of glass. The Winter Soldier, seemingly unaffected by the fall, still has his hands around Steve’s neck.

Spots dance in Steve’s eyes, and he can feel himself slipping away. He tugs weakly at the hands, trying to pry them off, but they’re like a vice. He closes his eyes.

Suddenly, the pressure releases. Air floods his lungs. He opens his eyes just in time to see the Winter Soldier go flying through the air and slam into the side of the house.

Steve sits up, coughing. “You’re late.”

“Right. I’m clearly the one at fault here,” Bucky scoffs, materializing next to Steve. “I’m glad you’re not dead though, asshole.” Steve grins, but before he has a chance to respond, the Soldier staggers to his feet on the other side of the yard.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He floats across the lawn.

“Buck, don’t kill him!” Steve calls after him.

Bucky waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not going to, Steve. I’m just gonna knock him out so we can figure out how to get me back in my body.”

Steve watches as Bucky reaches the Soldier and throws him, sending him tumbling across the grass.

“You know, once we figure out how to get you back in there you’re gonna have to deal with all those bruises you’re giving yourself,” Steve reminds him.

“I haven’t felt anything in 70 years, Steve. Trust me, I’ll be thrilled to be in pain. At least at first.” Bucky picks the Soldier up and slams him into the ground, finally knocking him out. He turns to Steve. “Now let’s get this fucker inside. You’ve still got that book, right?”

 

“So, it looks like the restoration ritual is basically the same as the banishing and exorcism rituals. Same materials, I just need to say different words.” Steve flips over the page, making sure he’s not missing anything.

“Can we hurry up and do it then?” Bucky is once again in the circle, floating above the unconscious body of the Winter Soldier. “Every second we wait is more time for this fucker to wake up.”

“Yeah, hold on a sec.” Steve picks up the lighter, and sets about relighting the candles. “Okay. We’re all set.”

He picks up the book, and starts reading. The circle begins to glow, and by the time Steve reaches the end of the passage the room is filled with a blinding white light that forces him to cover his eyes.

The light dies, revealing a circle occupied by only one very much alive and physically present Bucky. They both stare at each other for a moment, neither really sure what to say. Finally, in lieu of speaking, Steve tackles Bucky in a giant bear hug, knocking him to the ground.

Bucky lays there, stunned. For over seventy years now he’s been planning exactly what he would do in this moment, but all of his plans are thrown out the window by the realization of one simple, overwhelming fact- he’s forgotten what a hug felt like. He’s completely forgotten how nice it feels to have arms wrapped around him, reminding him that he’s safe and loved. He makes a mental note to add more hugs into his daily life.


	5. Chapter 5

As usual, Steve wakes up at six in the morning. However, it only takes one look at the sleepy Bucky next to him to convince him that maybe for once he should stay in bed. He burrows back under the covers and cuddles up next to Bucky, who sleepily mumbles something incoherent and curls around him.

They stay like that for hours. It’s not until noon that Steve’s stomach finally overpowers his longing for cuddles, and he gets out of bed. He sets about making breakfast and a few minutes later Bucky shuffles in, wrapped in a blanket and yawning. Steve smiles, and hands him a mug of coffee.

“Morning, hon. How’s it going?”

Bucky yawns again, and shrugs. He sits down at the table, and Steve sits next to him, giving him a quick kiss on the forehead as he does so.

“Still not a morning person, huh?”

Bucky makes a noncommittal grunt, and takes a sip of coffee.

Steve’s smile widens. Some things never change.

 

About an hour later, after Bucky fully wakes up, he decides to cut his hair. Steve sits on the bathroom counter, watching Bucky attack his hair with a knife.  
“You sure you don’t want scissors?”

“Listen, Steve, what’s the point of having over seventy years of experience with a knife if I’m not gonna use it?”

Steve rolls his eyes.

 

They spend the next few hours building a pillow fort in the living room, just like they used to when they were younger. When dinner rolls around they order a pizza and marathon movies inside the fort, Bucky’s head resting in Steve’s lap and Steve’s fingers running through Bucky’s new short haircut.

After watching four movies, Steve decides it’s time for bed. They make their way to the bedroom, and within minutes they’re both asleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Bucky knows something is wrong even before he opens his eyes. He tries to reach a hand out to make sure that the mass lying next to him under the blankets is Steve, but can’t. The bedsheets are wrapped tightly around his arms, pinning them to his sides.

“Steve?”

His panic mounting, he listens, ears straining for any quiet sounds of breathing, or soft footsteps down the hall. But there’s nothing. Only deafening silence.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Something wet touches his side, as if there’s some sort of liquid slowly seeping across the bed. He tries to pull away, but once again the bedsheets hold him down. All his instincts scream at him to get up and run, but he can’t. He takes a deep breath, steadies himself, and opens his eyes.

Standing next to the bed, looming ominously over him with those flat, sunken eyes and that limp, tangled hair, is the inescapable reality that he’ll never get a happy ending.

The ghostly Soldier raises his arm, metal fist clenched tightly around the hilt of a knife. Blood trickles down the stained blade, thick drops striking the floor with an eerily familiar sound. Bucky closes his eyes, and waits for it all to end.

Drip. Drip. Drip.


End file.
